Episode Tag: Paint It Red
by itsavolcano
Summary: Tag for 1x13. "You fooled me once already, tossing the painting in the fireplace. How do I know you didn't trade out the original for another fake?"


_Written for the Super Duper Tag Project. Since my last two tags have been rather melancholy, I decided on a bit of playful banter in this go. I'm also 95% positive the artist named in this ep was Moreau. If I fall in that 5%, let's just go with it. It was Moreau. _

_Episode Tag 1x13, Paint It Red_

Lisbon stood at the door of her office and looked out on the empty bullpen. It was mostly quiet except for the cleaning crew and Jane, asleep on the couch. Her team had called out their goodnights and left an hour ago, no doubt pleased to have one more solved case under their collective belts. And this case was of the interesting sort, with oil barons, stolen art, and double crosses at the heart of it all.

The image of Jane tossing the painting in the fireplace rolled in her mind, and Lisbon was thankful it was a fake. Over the few years they'd worked together, she had to explain away a lot of her unruly consultant's behavior, but somehow she didn't think Minnelli would appreciate the fallout of burning a painting worth at least $50 million. She didn't even know what $50 million looked like. Jane had assured her the painting hanging in the bullpen was another forgery, but that it was an excellent forgery. It looked completely out of place, decorating the brick walls of the CBI.

Quietly moving to get a better look at the painting, Lisbon glanced over her shoulder at Jane. He was still sleeping, his arms folded over his chest, his head pillowed against the back of the couch. He looked peaceful.

Lisbon leaned closer to the painting, her eyes searching for the modern invention Wallace always placed throughout his copies. She tilted her head and squinted, her nose practically to the canvas. Was that an AK-47 or a telephone pole jutting out of that patch of grass?

"Adds a little something to the place, don't you think?"

Lisbon gasped and jumped back. Apparently he wasn't as asleep as she thought.

"Geez, Jane." She turned and looked at him, her heart slowing settling back down in her chest. He had one eye cracked open and a lazy grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "You can be a real jerk, you know that?"

"I was merely commenting on the aesthetic quality the Moreau piece adds to the rather dreary office."

"How can this office be dreary with a view like that?" She hooked a thumb to the Sacramento River where Tower Bridge was lit against the twilight sky.

"Eh, that's a fine view, I suppose. But that view is _out there_ and we are _in here_." He spoke emphatically. "Don't we deserve a bright spot within these walls? We see such awful things on a daily basis: murders, mayhem, and the like. The Moreau is a reminder of a case closed, a family united. Plus, she's quite beautiful."

"Moreau?" Lisbon narrowed her eyes.

"Hmm?" Jane's eyes slipped closed again. She knew that tactic, he was avoiding her question.

"That's the second time you referred to this as a Moreau." She was suddenly more alarmed. If there was anything worse that explaining why Jane chucked a 19th-Century French painting in a fireplace, it was how it ended up hanging on the wall of her bullpen. "You assured me this was another forgery."

"Lisbon, would I keep a piece of stolen art?" He didn't bother to open his eyes. She wanted to punch him in the nose. Instead, she raised her chin and decided to ignore the implications. Until an oil baron came bounding into the CBI, demanding his painting, Teresa Lisbon knew nothing. All she had was circumstantial evidence… and a gut feeling. She really wanted to punch him in the nose.

"You fooled me once already, tossing the painting in the fireplace. How do I know you didn't trade out the original for another fake?"

That got him to open an eye. Just one eye, though.

"I suppose the more important question I should've asked is what would I do with a piece of stolen art, Lisbon?"

She gestured around the room. There was an element of annoyance in her tone. "Oh, I don't know, garishly display it in the bullpen of a government institution? That sounds exactly like the kind of thing you would do."

He smirked and slipped further into the sofa. For a brief moment, Lisbon's eyes narrowed as she envisioned the sofa opening up and swallowing up her laughing consultant in one quick gulp. _How_ was she going to explain this recent debacle to her boss?

As if sensing her train of thought, Jane pulled himself up from the couch in one fluid move. He let out a deep growl as his muscles and joints ached. Adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and tugging at the tail of his vest, he slipped next to Lisbon.

Placing his hands firmly on either shoulder, he tilted her back around to the painting. He made a contemplative hum at the back of his throat and tapped his lips. She might punch him yet. Leaning her forward, he pointed over the shoulder of the young woman. There, tucked in the distance was an oscillating fan. Lisbon let out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Et voilà. A forgery." Without another word, Jane turned and shuffled back to the couch. In one fluid movement—and surprisingly without a groan—he rolled back into the cushions. "Satisfied?"

"That still doesn't answer why it's hanging out here."

"I told you, a bright spot in a rather desolate, gloomy office." She gave it three days before Rigsby knocked it down with his stress ball.

Jane's eyes were closed again, his arms back against his chest. Suddenly exhausted herself, she made her way back across the bullpen.

"You're very trusting all of a sudden," Jane called out, and something in his voice gave her pause. "What makes you so sure I didn't just draw a fan in with a fine-point Sharpie?"

Lisbon let out a deep groan, her fists balled at her sides as she continued to her office. She could hear him chuckle.

One of these days, she vowed. One of these days he'd push her too far and she'd deck him. She'd deck him right in the kisser.

- FIN -


End file.
